I'm Blaming You
by UntappedChaos
Summary: He wanted to blame someone for the condition she came back in, but there wasn't really any specific person he could blame. Sinbad, Mogamett, Al Thamen, there were options… but damn it, it was all of them together and none at all.


_Disclaimer: Does not own Magi, unfortunately._

**I'm Blaming You**

_UntappedChaos_

He wanted to blame _someone_ for the condition she came back in, but there wasn't really any specific person he _could_ blame. Sinbad, Mogamett, Al Thamen, there were options… but damn it all, it was all of them together and none at all.

So Sharrkan chose to get Yamraiha shit-faced drunk instead, because it was the only way she would let him comfort her.

"You _suck_ Sharr. You do," she muttered belligerently from her place across his shoulder. He toted her up the stairs like a sack of potatoes, because he couldn't keep a hold of her any other way. "Why couldn't you have _been_ there, you dumbass?"

"You know damn well why, so shut up already. And don't barf on me or I _swear_ I'll hang you from the dining room rafters naked," he snapped. "As if you would've gone to Magnostadt _before_ all this shit went down. Did you want to? Ah?"

She muttered a barely-decipherable negative.

Because he refused to haul her all the way to her fancy-ass tower on the other side of the castle, and because he'd rather sleep in _his bed_ than on _her floor_, it was obvious to take her to his room; the door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and he immediately closed it behind, heading for the bathroom. Despite her protests, Yamraiha had stopped struggling; she quite cooperatively slumped onto the counter next to his wash basin, head lolling against the mirror with her hat long since disappeared. Watery teal eyes looked at him through a bleary haze, bottom lip still somewhat sullenly protruding.

"You're coming out of those clothes whether you like it or not, so tell me if you can do it yourself _now_ or forever hold your pieces," he said, pulling a spare robe out of his closet. It was the only thing he had, but her current clothing stank of bar and food, and a few trace scents of burns and fire. She tried to get up, but apparently her limbs had straight out turned to jelly; slumping back agains the wall, she kicked off one shoe and then the other, allowing them to fly across the room and slap the wall before clattering to the floor.

"There."

"Like hell," he said, grabbing her obi and giving it a yank. She tumbled into his arms easily, the equivalent of an over-sized rag-doll, and with great effort he managed to flop the greater part of her upper body against his torso and free his hands. The knot wasn't overly complicated… but he was beginning to think she had spelled it to stay exactly where it was. He wouldn't put it past her.

"Sharrrrrr…"

"What?"

"Are you gonna have sex with me?"

… Well damn. "No."

"… If I ask, will you have sex with me?" He wanted to bang his head against something, but she was putting all her weight on him and the knot was _still_ not coming undone and-

"Why?" he managed, nearly biting his tongue in the process. Her nose buried sulkily against his collarbone, her next words sent chills down his spine for two very different reasons.

"'cause the girls say you show them nirvana, and I could use a little of that right now."

Good that he was a highly-praised bed partner. Bad that Yamu was basically ready to throw away her virginity on a man who she considered an ally at best just to black out and only have to deal with things later. Damn, he didn't get her drunk enough, and _now_ of all times the fucking knot comes undone, robe falling open on a very voluptuous and perfectly unscarred body. It wasn't that she wasn't hot and didn't turn him on. She was and did, because hey, she had the looks. Regardless of male libido though, he wasn't going to strangle their already limping relationship.

"Ask me again when you're sober."

"I'll probably say the same thing."

"Bullshit."

The Yamraiha he knew was prickly as a cactus and proud as an eagle; she'd beat him with her staff first and boil him from the inside after for even suggesting it if she had half her mind to her.

"Sharr."

"_What_?" He didn't mean to snap, but pulling off those shells he _knew_ she didn't sleep in was just not fair for the drunk on duty. Using his level _best_ effort, the swordsman avoided looking down while reaching for the robe he'd pulled out when-

"Please. Just please. I bet you could blow it all away if you'd touch me."

He could hear tears lining her voice, and it pissed him off and made him nervous, just enough to risk looking down at her. She was looking back. Her head was still nesting on his shoulder, eyes looking up at him sincerely, sadly, begging. The alcoholic haze was thinner than he remembered. She might've used a little magic to burn some off, just to prove her point. The thought didn't make him feel any better, but he took her more seriously.

"If you're going to kill me in my sleep, we better stop now." The mage offered a watery smile, fingers reaching up slowly to move his bangs further away from his face.

"If you're going to reject me, it'd be proper mercy to knock me out long about now."

He didn't though. Sharrkan looped his arms around her waist and under her rump, lifting her like an over-sized toddler and trundling toward the bed at an easy pace, rubbing gentle circles over her spine. Calling it 'room to think' or something similar, because he really was debating just what to do with the situation, he set her on the edge of the mattress gently; peeling her arms from around his neck as he went, the swordsman crouched in front of her with a searching look.

"You _really_ sure? You're not going to regret it tomorrow and blame me?"

Yamraiha shook her head. Didn't bother with words, but it wasn't hard to tell she was sincere and getting more sober by the minute. She was using alcohol as an excuse to ask.

_Aw, hell_.

Her fingers were stroking his bangs aside again, and rather than expect him to come to her, Yamraiha leaned down to touch trembling lips against his forehead, and then the corner of his mouth. Lashes mingled and brushed cheeks in quiet butterfly kisses. She really hadn't done this before; it didn't surprise him, but it kicked the heat up just a bit. Even now he couldn't understand how men ignored her, but he put those thoughts aside. She came to him.

She came to _him_.

He kissed her, thinking that, and then letting everything fall to the background. Her lips were cold, and it created a painful, searing heat that was still somehow addictive. Feeling her hands on his shoulders, skimming down to wrap over his back, the hot and cold sensations had his instincts kicking in.

She's cold. Make her warm.

Yamraiha was already bare. The clothes he'd gotten out for her were long since forgotten, and it was fine that way. The dark red-brown of his skin contrasted with hers of nearly white, moonlight washing out the last of any color left. His hand pressed on her stomach, encouraging her to lean back, to let him lead. All she could do was follow his encouragement, each wordless command. Rather than feel belligerent over it, it came as a relief.

She let herself slip into his hands and let go.

It wasn't pretty, or perfect, or any of the fantasies little girls dream up for their special first. It hurt like hell, but it distracted her from the pain in her chest. It became heat like dry lightning crackling up her spine, pain morphing into lust regardless, breath stuttering in and out without permission as she allowed herself to cling to him, crying for good or bad neither knew. Loss and renewal, blended together in a nonsensical non-pattern, each at the mercy of the other; Sharrkan allowed himself to really look at her, and Yamraiha tried not to look at anything. She tried to keep her eyes closed, and simply drown into nothingness, but he wouldn't quite let her. His hands, calloused from years of fencing, held her with a vice-grip that brought her crashing back into the moment, consciousness suddenly focusing on the fierce presence that had, until now, not seemed so big.

Sharrkan loomed over her. He caged her in, and lifted her close, and there wasn't any space left to breath. Instead of two strangers, they were two parts that neither realized could be melded together, making something whole. The cry that he pulled from her caused him to tremble at it's sweetness, and the trembling encouraged her to fall ever more apart, to lay herself open.

Let him see inside her heart, to all the bitter little pieces the last few days had battered to dust.

In turn, Yamraiha could finally see him exactly as he was—pain for a friend, an ally, a trusted comrade, and ire for her situation. Rage for her grief and adoration for… for what, exactly?

And just as she thought she'd caught the meaning, her mind went white altogether before oblivion took over.

The next morning, Sharrkan found himself draped with a blue-haired mage and completely unable to move. Yamraiha made a nest for herself on his chest, and looked quite comfortable. Surprisingly she'd woken up first, and had her chin propped on her hands, looking like she was waiting none-too-patiently for him to peel his eyes open.

Now that they were staring at each other, the morning after, naked as the day either of them was born, Sharrkan was seriously hoping he didn't get the living daylights beat out of him. Or worse; with mages, there was _always_ a worse. Oh damn, she wouldn't—!

"I'm blaming you."

She gave a brilliant smile, planted a kiss on his nose, and then proceeded to his bathroom with a skip in her step that he decided was entirely his fault indeed.

* * *

**AN: Because I love SharYamu, there's barely _any_ love for them, and my feels are running rampant. /shot/ At any rate, I had more details in mind... but I'm kinda skittish about being too blunt with the... finer points of romance. =v=; So this'll have to do! PLEASE, ARE THERE ANY MORE SHARYAMU FANS OUT THERE?! ANYONE?**


End file.
